


Skeletons Against Child Abuse

by somnivagrantTraviatus



Series: Headcanons [6]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Post-Undertale Pacifist Route
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-17
Updated: 2017-09-17
Packaged: 2018-12-30 18:03:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12114222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somnivagrantTraviatus/pseuds/somnivagrantTraviatus
Summary: Sans joins a new club.





	Skeletons Against Child Abuse

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this](http://thesketcherlass.tumblr.com/post/165370218244/imagine-sans-seeing-a-bunch-of-bikers-against) prompt.

It’s not that the others are naïve. It’s just that, besides him, only the king and queen really know how nasty humans can get. And they’ve got enough to worry about without him voicing any suspicions about the folks who... _took care_ of the kid last.

So he does a little digging. Searches things like “signs of abuse in kids”, finds a couple files, tracks down a few leads. It’s been a long time since he put this much effort into anything, but he can’t bring himself to regret it.

Especially when the letter from their progenitors comes in. The tears of relief in the kid’s eyes make it all worth it.

(‘Course, those tears also say they’ve never gotten that letter before, which is its own set of problems. But he’s trying not to think about that.)

He sees the glances they dart at him, when they think he isn’t looking -- equal parts confused, wary, and… proud, maybe? Awed? He’s still not sure how he feels about that, but hey, if they feel safe with him, he’ll do his best to stick with them. If they see some politician who looks kinda like one of their creators and freak out, they should have someone around to pull them out of it. It’s the least monsters can do for them, after they broke the freaking _Barrier_.

(Again.)

Anyway, that’s his thought process, at least. Until they turn to look at him and sign, _You don’t need to keep following me._

“following? who said anything about following?”

The kid crosses their arms and taps a foot. It’s obviously something they picked up from Papyrus, and Sans grins, beginning to rummage around in his pockets. “nah, i was just gonna grab something from one of the vending machines.” He pulls out a gold piece, shrugs, and shoves it into the machine, then hits the code for sour cream and onion chips. The spiral begins to turn. As one… two… five… nine bags of chips fall into the tray, the coin slot starts discharging small change, quarters clinking against the Embassy tiles, and Sans starts shoving chip bags in his inventory.

The kid’s stare burns against the side of his skull. He raises a brow ridge at them and nods in the vending machine’s direction. “y’want one?”

They huff in answer and kneel next to him, beginning to pick up the flood of coins.

It’s silent, for a while -- just the crinkling and clinking of chip bags and change -- before the kid tries again. _You know I’m never alone, right?_

Sans glances at them. “you did make a lotta friends underground,” he says, carefully neutral.

The kid flinches. Still, they press on, even if they’re doing everything they can do avoid his gaze. _I appreciate your looking after me, but it’s not necessary. I’m perfectly safe here._ A corner of their mouth twitches up, and he has to suppress a flinch of his own. _And even if I weren’t... well, I’m sure it’d all work out._

“right.” 

They get to their feet with a sigh and shove the coins at him. He tries to demur, but they must hit a “Gift” button or something because he’s suddenly got about $70 in quarters and something called a “BACA Flyer” in his inventory. According to the description, it’s for a bike club that protects abused kids. Says they’re looking to recruit monsters.

The kid’s left already. It’s not like they would know if he threw it out.

Except in one corner they’ve written, _wouldnt it b funny if u brought ur trike??_ and. Well. He can’t say no to that.

The parking lot is, as expected, full of sleek motorbikes. His fingers itch -- there’s a gorgeous Suzuki he’d love to get his hands on, and the Kawasaki next to it isn’t half bad either -- but there are appearances to keep up, and he can already feel eyes boring into him. He grins at them. “hey. heard you guys were looking for monsters.”

“Dude, holy shit,” he hears one of them whisper. He shuts up pretty quick when the other guy elbows him, though.

“Yeah, we’re looking for monsters. But, uh… you got a bike?”

Sans grins and jerks a thumb back. “you’re looking at it.”

The dude just manages to hold in a sigh. “No, I mean… y’know, a _real_ bike. There’s no way that thing can make highway speed.”

“yeah? kept up okay with my bro’s ferrari the last time we raced.”

There’s a beat of silence at that, and then another heartfelt “holy _shit_ ” from the first guy. The second just sighs and holds his temples. “You’re… gonna have to clear that with the chief.”

He clears it with the chief.

(Well, okay, only provisionally. But they call dumps “bone yards” up here, and there’s _more than one_ , and maybe he’ll even get to check out what an actual hardware store looks like and pick out _new parts_ so it’s not like he’s opposed to building his own motorcycle. It’ll be nice to make something again without the looming threat of spatio-temporal catastrophe.)

In order to actually work with the kids, they tell him, he’s gotta spend at least a year coming to chapter meetings and events. The requirement rides on him (heh), but the bikers are nice, and as the months continue to roll by, he falls asleep in meetings less and less. 

He’s been keeping a careful eye on the calendar, so when they tell him he’ll be getting his patches soon, it’s no surprise. The leather hoodie they’re accompanied by is unexpected, though. He never thought he’d see the day he stopped wearing his old blue one, but he finds himself in leathers more and more often.

(The first time Papyrus sees him in the new jacket, he almost cries. Sans is different on the Surface, apparently. Better. It’s an interesting thought.)

His first assignment comes in. The kid’s name is Conrad -- the sheet says she’s a boy, but that’s obviously wrong -- and apparently she’s been lashing out at everything and everyone since her traumatic experience. Seems like a monster would be a strange candidate for someone with that kind of anger, but as soon as Sans walks in, he’s fielding questions like “Are you really magic?” and “How do your bones stick together?” and “Isn’t it weird to be wearing your face on your back?” 

“nice to meet you too,” he replies, grinning, and offers her a hand.

Nothing happens.

He’s about to shrug and fold it back into his pockets when she rushes towards him and practically tackles him into a hug. A “glomp”, Alphys might say. He doesn’t quite know what to do with his hands, so he pats her gently on the head.

“If you’re a skeleton,” she says, words muffled by his jacket, “then how come you’re fat?”

His partner, Spike, stifles a snort. He glares at her, mock-serious, and is rewarded with a burst of laughter. “eh, could be lots of reasons.” He starts ticking them off. “i mean, papyrus -- my bro -- is always telling me i eat too much grease, so it could be that. could be i like being big n’ soft, so my form reflects that. could be you’re leaning on the pillow i keep shoved in my ribcage in case of naptime. or…” He backs away, gently untangling himself from the kid’s arms, and the plastic ducks under his turtleneck begin to scream.

“Noooooooooooo,” the kid groans, laughing even as she sinks to the floor. “Not the screaming ducks!”

“...could be i like keeping stuff in there for pranks,” Sans finishes with a wink.

“Okay, so,” Spike says, once she gets her breath back. “You’ve met me and Bones. And you know we’re gonna be keeping an eye out for you, right?”

The kid nods, suddenly shy. “But… you’re gonna come back, right? I’m gonna be able to see you again?”

If Sans’s grin softens a little, well, he’s the only one who notices. “‘course, kiddo. anything to make you feel safe.”

“Anything?”

Dust. Blood. Power. _Duty._

“anything.”


End file.
